


To Hide From Some Vast Unnameable Fear

by Thebonemoose



Series: Magnus and Lukas (beans and books, babey!) [9]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional boundaries, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Martin Blackwood's Mother - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pining Jonathan Sims, Pining Martin Blackwood, Sharing a Bed, coffee shop/bookstore au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24076300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thebonemoose/pseuds/Thebonemoose
Summary: Jon pays Martin a visit at his flat.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood, Martin Blackwood & Jonathan Sims
Series: Magnus and Lukas (beans and books, babey!) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688632
Comments: 62
Kudos: 298





	To Hide From Some Vast Unnameable Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to all my adoring fans, it's me, I'm back, here's the penultimate Magnus and Lukas fic. Feast, my children. 
> 
> Rejected tags for this fic include:  
> First date vibes but its not a first date  
> Jon Would Like To Hold a Hand  
> Martin has some stuff to unlearn  
> Unstoppable force of people pleasing meets immovable object of human fallibility
> 
> Title is from No Choir by Florence and The Machine and guess what? This time it's actually somewhat relevant to the content of the fic! Call that progress, folks.   
> Side note, please do listen to this song and think about jm because it's very good and soft.

It had been two weeks. 

Thirteen days, to be exact. 

That was the last time Jon had seen Martin. That was the day that Martin had gotten the phone call about his mother. That was the day he had run out of the coffee shop, and hadn’t been in to work since.

James had informed them all that Martin was having a family emergency. He said that Tim would be with Melanie and Jon in the coffee shop until Martin was back to work. The three of them got by well enough on their own, of course, but still. It wasn’t the same. 

The shop didn’t feel right without Martin. Nothing felt right without Martin. 

Jon exhaled, and brought his knuckles up to the door. He knocked once, twice. 

It swung open, revealing a tired-looking, jumper-clad Martin. His eyes had dark circles, and there was stubble on his face. 

“Jon?” He asked, eyebrows raised. 

Jon plastered on a smile. “I brought food!” he said in lieu of a greeting, and held up the bag of takeaway in his hand. 

Martin wordlessly stepped aside, still wearing the same bemused expression. “Um, you know… I’m planning on coming back when my sick leave runs out,” he said, unprompted, and closed the door behind Jon. 

Jon deposited the takeaway onto Martin’s kitchen counter. “Yes, but… Well, that’s not why I’m here,” Jon said, and turned to face Martin. Martin continued to stare blankly at Jon, although now he narrowed his eyes.

He exhaled a soft, measured breath. “...Why are you here, Jon?” Martin asked slowly, genuinely. 

For a moment, Jon considered telling Martin everything. He considered laying himself bare in the middle of Martin’s entranceway; confessing his love and begging Martin to be merciful.

But it wasn’t the time, and it wasn’t the place, so Jon told a more careful version of the truth: accurate, but not whole.

“I’m here because I care about you. And I wanted to know if you were alright.”

Jon resisted the urge to wring his hands, and Martin took a moment to process his words. 

His expression did not change, but he opened his mouth. “...Okay,” he said simply, his tone even and light, but reserved. 

Martin then looked around at his flat, and his cheeks colored. “Er… Sorry about the mess,” he said, and Jon noticed the clutter for the first time. Jon opened his mouth to dismiss it, but Martin cut him off. 

“I haven’t had a chance to tidy up,” he said, gathering rubbish and debris into a plastic bag. 

“Martin,” Jon said. 

Martin rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been, um, kind of out of it, really--”

“Martin.”

“I mean, I wasn’t expecting company, obviously--”

“Martin,” Jon said one last time, louder. 

Martin looked up, his eyes wide. 

Jon gently took the bag of garbage from Martin’s hand. “Let me help you,” he said, softly. 

Martin stared into Jon’s eyes. He nodded-- an awkward, jerky movement-- and it was all the confirmation Jon needed. 

Wordlessly, they began to clean. 

The work went by quickly with two, and soon enough both men were standing somewhat listlessly in Martin’s now-clean apartment.

Jon cleared his throat. “What-- er, what would you like to do?” he asked. 

Martin shrugged helplessly. Jon’s gaze wandered around the space until it landed on the bag of food. 

“We...could eat?” Jon suggested, and Martin glanced to the takeaway. He nodded. 

They dished up in silence, and each sat with their plates at Martin’s tiny, dinged up dining table. 

Jon had hoped that Martin would feel more talkative than he did. After a moment of racking his brain for something to talk about, he decided some prompting might help kill the painful quiet that lingered between them. 

“Do… you want to talk about it?” Jon inquired, gently. 

Martin immediately shook his head. 

_Hard no, then. Better think of something else._

“I… can’t, Jon,” Martin said, his voice shaky.

“That’s alright, it’s okay,” Jon assured, his hand hovering near Martin’s on the wooden surface of the table. He longed to place his hand on top of Martin’s; to offer some modicum of comfort. But he couldn’t. “Um, do you mind if I talk, then?” he asked, and placed his hand once again in his lap. 

Martin hesitated, but then he nodded. “Okay.”

“Well,” Jon started, having absolutely no idea where he intended on taking the sentence. “Er, Tim and Melanie and I are at the coffee shop, together. It’s a bit like old times, except-- well, except for Melanie.”

Martin took another bite. 

Jon had the sudden urge to run away, and send Sasha or Tim or _anybody_ in his place. He had no idea what to do, he had no idea what Martin needed to hear, or even if Martin just needed Jon to _leave._

He knew he wasn’t helping, that was for sure. He’d just bullied Martin into cleaning and eating and feeling badly about himself, and really, that’s no way to treat someone that you _love!_

“I bet Melanie loves that,” Martin said drily, looking down at his food. 

Jon’s eyes widened. “Uh, uh-- Yes, she’s… very angry at us for large portions of the day,” he replied, intent on gripping the lifeline Martin had thrown without even realizing. 

Or maybe Martin had realized. Maybe that’s how well Martin knew Jon. Maybe he knew exactly what Jon needed, even when Jon was the one who was trying to care for Martin. 

Well, if that was the case, then Jon was going to step up his game. 

“...And Daisy and Basira are finally together. Officially. Or publically, maybe? I’m not sure. But we’re all very happy for them,” Jon added, attempting a cheerful smile. 

Martin hummed. “Sasha told me she and Tim are dating now,” Martin remarked, flicking his eyes up to meet Jon’s.

Jon nodded. “Yes! Yes, Tim told me that he liked her, and then I guess after Halloween, they… made it official.”

“I’m happy for them. Seems like everyone in the store is pairing off,” Martin chuckled slightly, and Jon’s heart dropped into his stomach. 

_Yes, it does. Everyone except us, that is._

“Not Jonah and Peter, though,” Jon said, earning him a real, albeit small, smile from Martin. He reveled in it. 

“Um, you know, Martin, I read this very fascinating article the other day, ab- about spiders…” Jon began to ramble about any topic he could think of, spouting off all the random facts he had acquired over the years. 

It got them through dinner. And then Jon kept rambling, and it got them to Martin’s couch, both comfortably curled up on the opposite ends, facing each other. With every new sentence, Jon wanted to move closer, to be nearer to Martin, to offer his presence up as a boon against whatever invisible foes Martin was battling. 

But he kept his distance. And then he ran out of things to ramble about. 

Martin looked a little lighter, though. A little more real, more tangible. Less like a grainy, black-and-white photograph and more like the man Jon was in love with. 

So when Martin finally opened his mouth, and asked “Will you tell me about yourself, Jon?” Jon did not hesitate to nod. 

“A-alright,” he said. “What do you want to know?”

Martin furrowed his brows. “Tell me about your childhood.”

Jon blew out a lungful of air, and began. 

He had never verbalized his entire personal history before, so he began at birth, where most things tend to begin. He didn’t leave anything out, really; he’d never hid the fact that he was an orphan, and he wasn’t ashamed of being raised by his grandmother. 

He was somewhat reluctant to recount his bullying experiences, although he still did. Martin seemed particularly disturbed when Jon told him he hadn’t really blamed the bullies, given that he was, in his own words, ‘a deeply annoying child’. 

Then he went into his experiences at Uni, and meeting Georgie. With each word, Martin came further into focus, and he seemed more inclined to comment, or even laugh at something Jon had said. 

“I suppose you’re wondering how a 28-year-old with a degree comes to be a manager at a coffee shop,” Jon said finally. 

“Well, I wasn’t going to ask, but now that you’ve brought it up…” Martin smiled. 

“Truthfully, I don’t _entirely_ know,” Jon said, and Martin groaned. 

Martin threw a pillow at Jon. “Cop out!” he accused, grinning. 

Jon felt like the entire sun was burning inside of his chest. 

“It’s true! I got a job there out of university, and Tim was there, and this was back when Gertrude worked there, too-”

“Wait, _Gertrude_ worked there?!” Martin’s eyes were the size of golf balls. 

“Yes? You didn’t know this?” Jon asked, frowning. 

Martin shook his head, a far-off expression on his face. “Yeah, no. Whatever, continue.”

“Well, she quit shortly after I was hired, and Elias being Elias, he decided to just promote me to her position instead of hiring someone new. Or even promoting Tim, who at the time was more of a slacker but also, technically, had more experience.”

“He didn’t just _technically_ have more experience, he _did_ have more experience, Jon,” Martin laughed. 

Jon rolled his eyes. “Anyways, suddenly I am the manager of this coffee shop, and I have, obviously, no idea what I’m doing.”

“Still don’t,” Martin mumbled. 

Jon raised his eyebrows. “What was that?” 

“Nothing, please continue,” Martin replied innocently. God, Jon loved him. 

He snickered but carried on. “Well, eventually, after working there for so many years and never finding anything in the field I majored in, I stopped looking. And whenever I thought about quitting, or finding alternate work, I just… couldn’t. It felt strange. Like this… silly coffee shop wasn’t done with me yet. It sounds stupid, I know,” Jon said.

Martin shook his head. “I think I get what you mean,” he replied softly. 

Jon needed to find something else to say that very instant or he would do something terrible and stupid, like kiss Martin.

Especially when he was looking at Jon like _that_.

“Piano!” he blurted suddenly, then grimaced. _Way to go, genius._

“What?” Martin laughed incredulously. 

“Um-- that is to say, er- where did you learn to play the piano?” Jon was certain his face was red. He ignored the impulse to bury his face in his hands. 

Martin looked at him funny, but answered. “I took lessons when I was younger. I haven’t played in a while, though. I’m glad Peter bought one.”

“Me, too,” Jon smiled. 

Martin looked surprised. “Oh, do you play, too?”

Jon frowned, shaking his head. “Um-- No, I don’t.”

“Oh. Why are you glad Peter bought a piano, then?” Martin furrowed his brows. 

He shrugged. “So I could hear you play it,” Jon answered simply. 

Martin’s eyes widened. “O-oh,” he said. “Oh.”

Jon swallowed thickly. “Yep,” he said, a bit breathlessly. 

Martin looked away first. “Do you want to watch TV?” he asked loudly, and clicked the remote without waiting for an answer. 

They settled on a documentary that neither of them had seen before, and let it fill the spaces their conversation did not yet know how to reach. 

Jon gave up on paying attention to the documentary after the first five minutes. All of Jon’s mental power was used up being aware of the distance between himself and Martin. They were so _close,_ mere centimeters apart on the couch. Jon could so easily bridge the gap: all it would take was a careful word, or a hand deliberately moved to the No Man’s Land between them. 

Jon chanced a brief peek at Martin. 

He was sitting comfortably, his eyes focused on the documentary. 

His hand was just shy of the middle of the empty seat between them. Jon could put his hand in the same spot relative to himself, and Martin would have the option of moving his hand closer or further away. That way, it would be entirely up to Martin, and he wouldn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to. 

Like hold Jon’s hand. 

Jon huffed at himself. _Idiot_. 

Jon probably would have continued to mentally berate himself, but Martin chose that moment to mute the TV and turn to him with a determined expression. 

“I think… I think I hated my mum.”

Jon stared at him. 

Martin screwed his eyes shut. “I mean, I loved her, of course. I cared for her for years, but… I hated her, too.” Martin opened his eyes but kept his gaze downward. 

“Those… lines get kind of blurry sometimes, don’t they?” Jon asked. Martin nodded. 

He sighed. “I’m going to miss her. I can’t tell if that’s a conscious decision I’m making, or if that’s just the reality of the situation-- that my mum is dead, and I’m going to miss her.” Martin frowned, and looked off to the side. “Maybe what I’m missing is how she used to be, before my dad fucked off. When she was truly happy. Or happier, I ‘spose.”

Jon said nothing. 

Martin heaved a sigh. He scrubbed his face with his hands, and gave a wretched, mirthless little chuckle that broke Jon’s heart.

“I’m…” He swallowed thickly and glanced at Jon with watery eyes. “I feel so guilty, Jon, but I’m so relieved!’ He said, and gave in fully to sobs. His body shook for a moment, but he took a deep breath. “I think it was slowly killing me, trying to be perfect for her. I can’t do that. I can’t be that for anyone. It’s too much, Jon. It’s too hard.”

Then Martin was sobbing again, and Jon could not keep his distance. He pulled Martin to himself and held tightly, begging anything that could hear him to ease Martin’s pain. 

“Martin, it’s okay to… To feel mixed, about your mother’s passing. You can feel sad that you lost a family member, but also feel relieved that-- that a woman who was largely horrible to you is no longer around to hurt you,” Jon said, and Martin made a wrecked little noise, but nodded against him. 

“You don’t have to be perfect. Not for her, not for me, not for anyone. Just-- just be Martin. That’s all anyone will ever need from you. Just be Martin, okay?” Jon asked, trying desperately to ignore the lump in his throat. 

Martin sniffled and nodded again. “Thank you, Jon,” he said quietly after a moment, and Jon could only hold him tighter. 

The time passed around them as if they were dry islands in the middle of its winding, fluid path. Night fell, and Martin’s silent apartment was blanketed with a calm darkness. Martin had, eventually, fallen asleep, and Jon was then faced with the dilemma of carefully extricating himself so Martin could sleep on the couch, or waking Martin up so he could sleep in his own bed. 

Jon sighed. Judging by the stiffness in his own neck from spending just a few hours on this couch, Martin’s back would not fare well spending all night on it. _The bedroom it is, then._

“Wake up, Martin,” Jon whispered, gently nudging Martin. 

Martin blinked. “Hm?” 

“Let’s get you to your bedroom.”

Martin mumbled something that sounded a bit like “No, I’m comfy.”

“We have to, or else your back is going to hurt tomorrow. And really, you have enough to deal with,” Jon whispered back, and began pulling Martin to his feet. He almost fell once or twice, but was mostly able to stand on his own. 

He was still leaning tiredly on Jon, though, which-- for the sake of his own sanity-- Jon pretended was not adorable. 

Together they shuffled down the hallway to Martin’s room, and Jon helped pull the bed covers down so Martin could get in. 

Martin pulled the covers to his chin and closed his eyes immediately. Jon was turning to leave when he felt Martin’s hand grab his. Surprised, he looked to Martin, whose eyes were still closed. 

“Please don’t leave me,” he mumbled. 

Really, what was Jon supposed to do?

“Never,” Jon swore, and walked round to the other side of the bed. He laid down on top of the covers, facing Martin’s half-asleep form. 

Martin flipped over to face him, and his eyes slid open. He heaved a sigh. 

“I’ve been so lonely, Jon. My whole life, I’ve been so lonely.”

Jon shut his eyes and felt his core shatter into a thousand razor-sharp pieces. He took a breath and let it out slowly. Then he opened his eyes again, and grabbed Martin’s hand that lay on the bed between them. He pulled Martin’s hand to his chest and held it there, tightly. 

He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. Jon didn’t know of any words that would ease Martin’s pain, that would take away the bitterness and sting. But he could brave the storm at Martin’s side, if Martin allowed it. If Martin asked him. 

So he gripped Martin’s hand and placed it to his beating heart as if it was a promise. _What hurts you will hurt me, because you are dear to me. Because you are vital._

Martin’s breathing continued in its steady and ebb and flow, and in the last moments before he was lost to dreaming, Martin squeezed Jon’s hand in his, and Jon felt like maybe, if the universe was kind, if the world had any justice or balance in it at all-- that was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Well there you have it. My goal is to have the next fic completed before May 20th so if that doesn't happen then by all means yell at me in the comments and tell me to get my shit together. 
> 
> Anywho, thank you for reading! It's been a super fun time writing this series and I've loved it, and I've loved reading all your comments and getting notifications for kudos as well. Stay safe, I'll see you at the finale.


End file.
